


One More Day

by FlailingZombie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, i killed a few people, mentions of major characters deaths, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlailingZombie/pseuds/FlailingZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the scars that had him in this state. No, those he could deal with. Being the only non powered human amongst his friends meant he would have gathered his fair share of trophies over his years of fighting the good fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Day

**Author's Note:**

> So yea. Another thing I had to get out where I hurt someone. I'm sensing a pattern here. At least this one has a better ending... Mostly. 
> 
>  
> 
> As usual, comments welcome, and i really shouldn't have to say they don't belong to me, I'm sadly not the almighty Joss.

He stared down at the bottle in his hand.

"One more day"

The thought echoed around his mind, bouncing off every surface, slamming back into him like a fist, painful and unnecessary.

He choked back a sob and waved his hand at nothing, trying to physically remove the memories of what brought him to this moment. 

Taking slow, deep breaths he shifted his gaze to the mirror, his eye refusing to focus on his image in the glass. Finally it settled on itself, reflecting back all the pain and fear of his last few years. The scars around his eye, lid sunken into the socket. Long, thick scar running down his cheek. Spike had saved him again that day. Some demon he couldn't pronounce with a claw unlike anything he had ever seen, the venom nearly killing him, but thanks to Spike's quick actions, he was left with the strained white tissue, only adding to his already patch-worked body of visible history. 

"One more day."

He whispered to no one as he leaned on the counter, bottle finally falling from his grip into the sink basin. He watched it bounce around a moment then slowly lifted his head again, his good eye -if you could call it that- narrowing at the many other scars all over his face and chest. 

It wasn't the scars that had him in this state. No, those he could deal with. Being the only non powered human amongst his friends meant he would have gathered his fair share of trophies over his years of fighting the good fight. It wasn't the many slivers of white and grey showing through his slightly thinning hair, or the effect of time on his once firm muscles, still fairly impressive for a man his age, or even the need to wear glasses along with his eye patch to correct his quickly fading vision. 

No, those were all things he had learned to live with, and took with a humor no one else could seem to understand. They often wondered why he never truly grieved the loss of his eye, or allowed himself to let the arthritis and thrown back slow him down from his white hat duties. He would always just toss out a joke, or wave their concerns away while offering to make a snack run or something similar. 

They didn't know why he was so determined to keep it going. They didn't know the promise he made over his best friend's grave, one dark night so long ago. No one had heard his whispered words, or saw the cut he made to his palm with the small silver axe he had been given to help him fight the evils. Nobody was around as he uttered a blood oath to never give up, never stop until fate decided it was his turn to join the countless others that died fighting along side him. He was alone that night, kneeling over the grave of his red haired companion, taken out by another creature trying to bring about the next apocalypse. Killed while saving his life. 

She had been buried next to Buffy, in the large plot Giles had bought a few years before he himself was taken. Buffy and Giles had died trying to save each other from, something, Xander had never been very good at remembering names of the creatures they fought. He remembered what it looked like, the smug grin being literally torn from it's face as Spike leapt in and decimated it for what it had done. 

Neither man held in the tears that day, clinging to each other after the funeral, doing their best to drown the pain with case after case of whatever kind of booze Spike had lying around their home. After the battle in LA Spike finally joined them, and he and Xander put their pasts aside, became friends through fire, watching each other's backs through the many fights and demon invasions that they came up against. 

Spike. The former enemy, greatest ally, and friend through so much. Spike, who carried the guilt of the Slayer's death for years before he was unable to cope anymore. Some believed his soul was driving him crazy, others thought it was just the weight on the shoulders of a man never meant to bear such burdens. Whatever the reason, Spike had had enough, and refused to listen to Xander's words of warning as the sun was rising that morning. He simply sat on Buffy's headstone, JD bottle in hand as the first wisps of sunlight began to creep along the horizon. He seemed deaf to Xander's shouts, blind to the man running toward him, knowing he would never make it in time. A soft smile graced his never aging face as the bright warmth of the sun burnt a path across his skin. He seemed so at peace as Xander finally reached him, bearing an expression of horror as yet another friend he couldn't save burst into flames and became ashes before his eyes. 

He went numb as the last person he had left in this world faded, the grey ash catching in the wind, swirling around him one final time before blowing away, lost forever. 

Sitting now in the livingroom he stared blankly at nothing, any sounds of the young slayers buzzing around the other apartments lost to the humming in his ears. He was alone now. The last of the core Scoobies left alive. His mind raced, trying to think of why it was him. Why did /he/ survive. He was only human. He had no special skills, no expertise in battle, the knowledge he had from his military memories faded long ago. He couldn't do this alone. 

It was then he got up, rifling through his medicine cabinet for the bottle. There was enough painkiller in his hands to end things right now. It would be like going to sleep, and waking up in the arms of his friends, his /family/. The bottle clutched tightly in his grip he opened it with shaky hands. He knew how easily he could make the memories go away, how simple it would be to just give in, join them all in the peace of nothingness. 

Something stopped him. Whispered thoughts flittering through his mind. Willow's voice reminding him of his promise, his own oath to keep fighting. He struggled internally with himself, knowing he wasn't strong enough to keep going alone, but not a big enough coward to go back on his blood oath. 

"One more day." 

He could fight for one more day. One day at a time, muddle through the pain and the loss.

"One more day." 

He channeled everything within himself to gain the strength to keep going. Keep fighting. 

"One more day."

One more day as the only real Scooby left. One more day as the older version of the young man that stepped up to Buffy's side and survived, against every odd, continued to fight. One more day as the physically near broken human fighter he always had been. One more day as the old man that refuses to quit, even when everything inside him just wants to give up.

"One more day." 

A knock at the door broke him from his mantra, the quiet voice of one of the few adopted Scoobies from before Sunnydale fell drifting through the door. 

"Xander? Xan, um, it's Andrew. I was wondering if you wanna, I dunno, talk, or, maybe watch a movie or something? Or... Oh bananas..." 

He knew that last part wasn't supposed to be loud enough to hear, but he half smiled at the image of the younger man fidgeting on the other side of the door, knowing he was just trying to reach out to him through the bad situation, in the amusing way only Andrew can. 

Xander allowed a real smile to tug his lips at that. Maybe he wasn't completely alone, not as long as he had Andrew, Dawn and sometimes Faith with him, helping to remind him why he should keep on fighting, keeping the memories of his loved ones as alive as they can, through their shared stories as they tell the tales to the new generations of Slayers, ensuring no one could ever forget what they had done together. 

He took another long breath and stood up straight, taking in his reflection once more before shaking his head and grabbing his shirt, ignoring the pull in his shoulder as he tugged it over his head. Making final adjustments on his eye patch he pulled open the door, greeted by the faintly smiling face of the oddly confident while looking so timid Andrew.

"One more day. And each one after."


End file.
